


Unplanned Futures

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-07
Updated: 2006-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The war is over.  Are they ready to grow up?





	Unplanned Futures

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Thanks to Allie for the beta!  


* * *

i.  
  
Her day planner fell open to the proper page with a flick of her wrist. A whole week lay spread out before her eyes, small black numbers gracing the top right of every uniform square. Business appointments were charmed in blue; family appointments in red; and social engagements unrelated to either in yellow. Hermione tapped the edge of her wand to the eleventh. Red letters jumped from the page into the air before her eyes: _Ginny’s Birthday Party._   
  
Not that she needed a reminder, of course. She knew Friday evening was the seventeenth birthday of her closest girl friend. She touched her wand to Wednesday. _Meeting with the head of magical law enforcement_ , it said, in bold blue letters. Hermione furrowed her brow. She’d known that as well. The meeting was in less than two hours.  
  
So why, she wondered, did she feel as if she was missing something terribly important?   
  
Her eyes landed on Sunday.  
  
And her wand clattered loudly as it fell on her desk.  
  
ii.  
  
Fairy lights glowed brightly, attached to everything that stood still, and to a few unlucky things that didn’t. Six paces ahead of her, Ron stood, a highball clutched in his hand as he bent over, one arm slung precariously over Harry’s shoulders as the two laughed uproariously. Blue eyes narrowed and sparkled from too much firewhiskey, and his cheeks were like two round apples.   
  
Hermione sipped from her pumpkin juice. She had claimed a headache early in the evening, and was thankfully allowed to stand of the edges of the party. Her stomach had not settled for two days; her mind – almost always in motion – had lurched into overdrive quite some time ago.   
  
She studied Ron from beneath her lashes. He looked carefree, a newly made man enjoying his well-earned time with family and friends, unconcerned – at last – with a world that had taken too much from him.  
  
Maybe it was a mistake. She was still young, after all. Young women’s bodies, especially those belonging to girls under considerable stress, were known to be irregular on occasion. A war, followed by a high profile job at such a young age, was sure to cause anxiety within anyone.  
  
Her hand unconsciously rested on her abdomen. Ron gestured widely, sloshing liquid over the edge of his glass. Hermione sighed.   
  
Maybe it was a mistake.  
  
iii.  
  
  
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Ginny had sauntered over just moments before, finally able to disengage herself from Harry’s grip. Hermione hoped the dark night would cloak her glowing cheeks.  
  
“I don’t know,” she lied. “This headache seems intent upon staying with me tonight.” She looked out over the party. Neville was standing next to the twins. He had just molted.   
  
“Hermione,” Ginny said, “why don’t you go lie down in my old bedroom?”  
  
A redheaded child with laughter like tinkling drops of rain ran across their path, chased by its silver haired mother, who scooped the little one up and scolded him lovingly in French. Hermione’s eyes followed the pair, and before she was quite aware of what was happening, they filled with tears.  
  
Ginny’s hand on her wrist was cool and soft.   
  
“I think I might be pregnant.” The words tumbled out in a rush, as if they’d been waiting for someone to come along.  
  
“Come on,” Ginny commanded softly, taking Hermione’s hand to lead her inside.   
  
She cast one last look at Ron’s blurry form before moving into the house.   
  
iv.  
  
  
“We have ways of detecting these things, you know.” Under the neon lights of the muggle pharmacy, Ginny’s freckles stood out purple against her pale skin. Freckles were a familiar thing to Hermione, so much so that she sometimes found herself wishing she had some of her very own.  
  
…would her child have freckles? Red hair? Blue eyes?  
  
“I just feel more comfortable doing it this way,” she insisted. She examined a pink and white box guaranteeing ninety-nice percent accuracy.   
  
Once outside, Ginny stopped her. “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell Ron?”  
  
“I….” Hermione studied Ginny’s hair, red, like Ron’s. “No.” Hermione swallowed the bile that threatened to rise. She thought it’d be easier, once she’d told someone, that this weight would be lifted, that her mind would clear, that if it were real, it’d be better. Instead -   
  
“Would it be so bad?”  
  
“Bad?” Hermione laughed. “I used to dream about it actually. But never… we haven’t even had the chance to be children, and now we might – I have a career…and… and we’ve never even discussed a future beyond what’s for dinner next week…and…” _I don’t know that I’m ready._   
  
“You would be an amazing mother,” Ginny told her quietly. “And Ron…”  
  
Ron would be an amazing father. She knew that.   
  
She Apparated to her flat by herself.  
  
v.  
  
The box sat unopened by her bedside. Ron had come over for dinner, and had barely walked in the door before smattering her face with kisses. Hermione smiled, pushing him away so she could pull the roast from the oven. She had decided she would not tell him until she was certain what she wanted.  
  
She was standing at the stove when he came up behind her. A freckled hand came into view.  
  
“You want to tell me what this is about?”  
  
Hermione looked at the box in his hand. Calmly, she pulled it from his grip. “Did Ginny tell you?” she asked quietly, holding the box tightly in her hands. The tears that had not stopped coming since the evening before were finally at bay. She would not cry again.  
  
“Ginny? Wh-.” Strong hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around. Blue eyes peered down at her. “No. I was in your room and I found it.”  
  
“What were you doing in my room?”   
  
“That’s not really the important issue right now, Hermione. What. is. this?”  
  
Hermione brought her eyes up to his face, to the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. “I’m late.” He pulled his hands off of her shoulders as if he’d been burned.  
  
“Oh.” She watched Ron swallow. “Should we…”   
  
“I have to finish dinner.”  
  
“Forget about dinner.”  
  
  
vi.  
  
He paced around her small kitchen. “Were you planning on telling me about this, or was it going to be another one of your secrets?”  
  
“Another one of my – don’t be ridiculous. Of course I was going to tell you about it.”   
  
“When?”  
  
“Tonight.” She watched his face: red, from anger maybe, or fear. It was hard to tell.  
  
“Oh. Good.”  
  
Her eyes followed as he continued to move back and forth in front of her. “How do you feel?”   
  
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I found out five minutes ago that I might be a father, so I’m a little muddled at the moment.”   
  
“You don’t have to be.”  
  
“Don’t have to be what?”  
  
“A Father.”  
  
He threw a look at her. “Now _you’re_ being ridiculous.”  
  
“I just don’t know that we’re ready for this.”  
  
“Do you not want to be a mother?”  
  
“Of course I do. Someday.”  
  
“Do you want to be the mother of my children?”   
  
Hermione caught her breath. “Of course I do.”  
  
“So the problem is?”  
  
“The problem is we’re not married, Ron; we don’t live together.” She ticked reasons off her fingers. “We’re so young; the war ended just five minutes ago and I thought it’d be nice to enjoy ourselves for awhile. We’ve never even discussed our future, and – oh, would you stop pacing!”  
  
He halted before her.  
  
“Maybe this could be our future.”   
  
  
  
vii.  
  
“I should probably take this….” She held the box up. “…before we start planning out futures.”  
  
Ron looked calm now, collected, perched close to her on the sofa in her small living room. “Do you really need to take it?”  
  
“I thought you -.”  
  
“I mean can’t you just tell?”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled. “No, I can’t just tell.”  
  
“My mum says she knew, with every one of us, that she knew the moment it happened.”  
  
“Your mother must be more in tune with her body than I am.”  
  
For the first time since she’d spoken _I’m late_ out loud, he touched her. A large hand on her right knee, warm and anchoring. “How do you feel? Damn, I should have asked you that right off. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s - I feel…empty, hollow, full and scared – no, terrified – and hopeful and…wonderful.”   
  
“Wonderful?” Blue eyes found hers.   
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Do you….” He swallowed again. “Do you want to do this?”  
  
“Do you think we _can_ do this?”  
  
He smiled then, finally. “Of course we can. It’s you, Hermione, you can do – it’s us. Of course we can.”  
  
“I guess I should go take this then.”  
  
“Do you want some help?”  
  
Hermione tugged on his hand as she stood from the sofa. “C’mon.”  
  
Ron unfolded himself and stood tall next to her. He bent down and dropped a kiss on her cheek.  
  
“Let’s go,” he said, and led the way into her bedroom. Towards their future.

 

End


End file.
